Philosophy
by DasMervin
Summary: Leah Clearwater and The Supernatural Boys engage in a little philosophical discussion. A Supernatural/Twilight crossover wherein Leah leaves the cruel treatment of her canon and finds some more deserving friends. Spoilers for all seasons of Supernatural.


**Title:** Philosophy

**Authors:** Das Mervin and Mrs. Hyde

**Fandoms:** Supernatural/Twilight

**Rating:** PG-13

**Word Count:** 3,380

**Summary:** Leah Clearwater and The Supernatural Boys engage in a little philosophical discussion. A Supernatural/Twilight crossover wherein Leah leaves the cruel treatment of her canon and finds some more deserving friends.

**Author's Note:** Okay, this needs a little bit of an explanation.

My writing cohort and I were discussing both _Twilight_ and "Supernatural" and our favorite characters in both. We are both very partial to the character of Leah Clearwater in _Twilight_, and consider her story to be by far the most interesting one that Meyer wrote. However, we also feel that Leah is badly abused by pretty much every single person in _Twilight_, up to and including the author. So, we started talking, and discussing how Leah would do well to get into a canon that would appreciate her, and our discussion eventually lead us to thinking maybe she could join up in "Supernatural". She's already a creature designed to protect humans and kill vampires—she'd be an excellent hunter, and killing the vampires and monsters (corporeal ones, anyway) in SPN would make her a more than welcome addition to any hunter's speed dial. Add to that the fact that we doubt Sam and Dean would have any objections to hanging around a hot chick who routinely gets naked and it just seemed to work.

However, the more we talked about her character, her issues with her humanity and questioning it constantly due to the transformation she went through, and the way she's an outcast with all the other wolves for no good reason we can think of, the more we realized that she has a _lot_ in common with none other than Castiel, the fallen angel. His is the opposite side of her struggle: he isn't questioning his humanity—he's slowly learning to understand it. He was cast out of Heaven, and no longer relates to his real brothers because of his experiences on earth and attachment to Dean and Sam.

And as a direct result, we co-wrote this little piece, a short little thing exploring her relationship with all three of them.

This doesn't go into how they met or anything how she became friends with the characters; this was just our testing the waters with them as a group and seeing how they interacted. So, Leah and the boys have known each other for a couple of years, and are just hanging out and shooting the breeze. Also, in terms of the SPN timeline, considering we are currently in the middle of Season Six and don't know how things are going to turn out, this takes place "outside" of that canon, as in everything worked out perfectly well and the series is over and we are all happy, thank you very much. Leah ditched La Push, the Winchesters are off hunting happily ever after, and Cas comes and hangs out with them because he likes it better on Earth than he does up in Heaven (which is canon confirmed, so I don't mind saying it). Sorry for the long-winded A/N, just thought you might need some explanation before getting into it. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy the piece.

* * *

Leah enjoyed keeping busy. And she never got tired of the thrill and exhilaration of another job well done. But lately, she had relearned to appreciate the benefits of a lazy day. Not hunting, not looking for a new job, just kicking back and having a beer with a few friends in a sleazy hotel, debating the finer points of classic rock.

Well, friends and deep conversation she had, at least. But as Leah pulled open the door to their fridge, she stared in consternation at the very last beer sitting by its lonesome on the shelf before grabbing it and turning back to her three companions.

"This is the last beer," she sighed, holding it aloft before chucking it at Castiel, who of course caught it effortlessly.

"Man, don't give that to him," Dean groused. "He's the reason we're already out! And just when I thought I was finally getting through to you!"

"Think again, hotshot. I still maintain that Freddie Mercury was the greatest front man of classic rock, and no matter how many beers you pour into me, you're not gonna make me change my mind," Leah said, sitting back down next to Cas, who was twisting off the top of his beer as she dropped down onto the couch.

"And that is because you are too young and stupid to know any better," Dean replied firmly.

"Oh, so you admit that you're old?" Leah shot back. "Or is it just that you think that Robert Plant is that sexy?" Sam snorted appreciatively. Leah grinned cheekily back at them both, but then paused to watch, impressed as always, as Cas tipped back and drank.

"That never gets old," she said after he had finished it in his customary single go and set the bottle back down on the table amidst the forest of empties he'd already put away. "We really should start taking him to more bars. We take bets on who can out-drink the little guy? We'd clean up." She eyed the angel, who was looking back at her with his omnipresent furrowed brows. "Or at least give him a bottle of Jack and sell tickets; he straight up John Belushis the stuff. I know _I'd_ pay to see it."

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Dean huffed, getting up out of his chair. "At least make him pay for his own damn booze. Breaks my heart watching him down the stuff so fast—he doesn't even get buzzed."

Sam glanced down at his watch as Dean stood. "Beer run?" he asked. "'Cause you might as well make it a lunch run, too," he said.

Dean looked down at his own watch at Sam's words. "Yeah, suppose you're right." He grinned at Leah. "Time to hit that burger joint we saw on the way in?"

"Hell yeah," she grinned back. "I want two bacon cheeseburgers, an extra long cheese coney, two large fries, one plain and one with cheese, and the biggest order of onion rings they got."

Dean blew a breath through his nose and shook his head. "I swear, the only person I think could out-eat you is Cas."

"How do you think we keep our girlish figures?" she simpered back.

Sam grinned at her, and then asked, "You two coming?"

"Nah," Leah said, stretching her arms over her head. "Think I'll stay here, maybe clean up a little—and you probably should leave the angel here too, given that cheeseburger habit you mentioned."

"My vessel had been affected by Famine," Cas said flatly.

"Right," Leah smirked. "And you could quit any time. Dean told me that, too."

Dean snorted. "Well, you two stay here—we'll just make a beer and grub run. We'll be back—and don't think this is distracting me from your pussy rock crap—this isn't over," he said, stabbing a finger at Leah.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah—go on, go do your male bonding thing where you pat each other on the ass and squee over Jimmy Page together," she said. "When you get back, we'll do makeovers."

"Oh, no—you're giving me a pedicure while we listen to _Houses of the Holy_," Dean shot back, sweeping out the door before she could retort.

Leah laughed, waving at Sam as he followed and shut the door behind him, before hauling herself to her feet from her seat on the couch and reaching for the empty beer bottles littering the low-slung coffee table.

"Man, this is making me all homesick," she wryly remarked to the air, juggling an armful of bottles and weaving her way to the trashcan in the tiny kitchen. "Send the menfolk to go out and be manly, keep the women inside, barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen! Good times." She dumped the load into the trash, and then turned around to collect another.

Cas was looking curiously at her. "I thought that you were one of the warriors of your tribe," he said, watching her unblinkingly as she scooped up another half-dozen bottles.

"Well, I am—or was, anyway," she corrected herself, sending another armful of glass crashing into the trashcan. "But I got designated 'dead weight' by the rest of the pack, and that was that." She rubbed her hand on the back of her neck, tendrils of her short hair tickling her skin as she sauntered over to grab the last bottle on the table. She smiled down at him, though her jaw was a bit tight. "So, that meant lots of staying at home doing nothing while everyone else went out to hunt." She lazily tossed the bottle through the air, and it landed with a crash with the rest of them.

She turned back to Cas, who had that look of honest confusion that never failed to amuse her. "Why?" he asked her.

She shrugged, keeping her voice bright. "Oh, probably because I'm a girl—girls have cooties, don't you know."

His expression made it clear he _didn't_ know, and her smile twisted wryly. "Honestly?" She sighed. "I have no idea," she confessed, flopping down on the couch next to him. "I mean, I wasn't very happy when I first changed—I had a life, a family, and a future, and turning into a wolf ruined all of that—but I really never could figure out why they were all so determined to hate me."

He was quiet, so she went on. "It's crazy—I was in their heads half the time, sharing their thoughts—and it's like it only went one way. I couldn't help but care about what they cared about, but they couldn't give two shits about me. And when I think about it, when I try to make it make sense, I _can't_, and I just get so _angry_—" She broke off, turning so she was facing him, drawing up her knees. "I mean, how can people _be_ like that?"

"I don't know," he said quietly. After a moment he added, "But I am not the best source for advice on human behavior."

Leah couldn't help but laugh a little. "Yeah, maybe you're right—but you are pretty good at the whole 'Father Confessor' thing, though." She propped her head on her fist, her elbow braced against the back of the couch. "Guess that comes with the job, huh?"

Cas regarded her steadily. "I suppose it does. People have been praying to me for millennia."

"Ah—yeah, well, you would have a lot of practice at being a good listener," she said with a smile.

He turned away, looking down at his folded hands. "I used to think so, but since coming down here, since living among humans and not just watching them from above, I'm not so sure I am any more."

Leah snorted rudely. "Have you _seen_ Sam and Dean?" she asked, amused. "Those two have all the sensitivity of a pair of bricks. _And_ they won't shut up—your problems take a back seat to their issues every time. Trust me, just sitting and letting people talk at you like you do is just about all it takes to make you a good listener."

Cas gazed back at her. "Perhaps. But that doesn't mean that I can understand what I hear."

She blew a breath through her nose. "You and me both, buddy—maybe that's just it. They don't care if you understand—they just want somebody to dump on," she said glumly. "But, hey," she added with forced lightness. "Who said people—or wolves—make sense?"

"No one," Cas said after moment of deliberation, and Leah grinned at him.

"Nope," she agreed. "I guess that's all there is to the other wolves in my pack—they're just a bunch of dicks."

A flicker of what passed for amusement crossed the angel's otherwise impassive face. "Yes—I believe Sam and Dean have similar sentiments toward my brothers."

"Well, screw them, then" she said, feeling more cheerful at his words. "I don't care if my pack thinks I'm just a stupid female who can't do anything but have the vapors and get in the way."

"You shouldn't," Cas said seriously, "since that is clearly a fault in their perception. You've been working on and off with Sam and Dean and myself for nearly two years, and in that time have shown yourself to be quite driven and capable. You are a definite asset to our work—and your sex has nothing to do with it."

Leah blinked; he did not. Then she smiled, just a little. "Thank you," she finally said, her voice almost shy. He just nodded and said nothing more.

The room was quiet. Castiel was sitting perfectly still, as he always did, looking off into nothing. Leah was biting her lip, flicking the occasional sideways glance at her companion on the couch.

It was Leah who finally broke the silence. "So…" She turned her head and tossed an arch look at him. "You wanna make out?"

He turned back towards her at that, and there was that blank look of confusion again. "Make out what?" he asked.

She grinned, unable to suppress a chuckle. "You know—make out." She raised her eyebrows as he clearly had no idea what she was talking about. "You, me, here unsupervised, I like you, you like me, let's get this party started?" she hedged, gesturing at them both. "You know?"

The attempted explanation just seemed to be confusing him further. "There is no party," he said, the furrow in his brow deepening.

Leah looked away, pursing her lips to hold in her laughter. "Okay, so you don't know," she said, and then turned back to him. "Well—allow me to demonstrate." She unfolded her legs and slid closer to him, grabbing his shoulder as she did.

His puzzled expression finally gave way when she heaved herself up to sit astride his narrow lap. His eyes widened first with surprise and then alarm as she slid her arms around his neck. Something sparked in those guileless baby blues of his—understanding, maybe—and they darted away for a moment before coming back her. She saw the tip of his tongue moisten his lips, and he seemed to be about to speak, but she cut him off by leaning in, pulling him close, and catching the curve of his bottom lip between her own.

It was chaste, as kisses go, and she kept it light, although she did give his lip a little tug as she pulled away. He was frozen (even more so than usual) when she pulled away, and she smiled. "You know?" she prompted again.

He cocked his head the tiniest bit, hardly more than a twitch, and his eyes flashed—and then she was on her back. Leah barely managed a squeak before he was on her, his mouth covering hers, one arm around her waist, his fingers tangling in her hair, his tongue rough and hot against her own. She could only cling to him and ride out what she had unleashed.

He broke away as quickly as he'd begun, blinking rapidly with a mix of shock and embarrassment as she panted up at him. "Oh," she said breathlessly. "So you _do_ know."

Now he looked positively ashamed of himself, and he started to pull away, but quick as a wink, Leah reached up and grabbed the tie that was swinging between them. "Oh, no, you don't," she purred, an appropriately wolfish grin spreading across her face. "This conversation just got interesting."

And she yanked him back down.

* * *

Dean slammed the car door with an outraged _thunk_. "Come on, man! Freddie Mercury?"

"Yeah, Dean," Sam answered with no little impatience. "The man is always ranked up there with Roger Daltry and Mick Jagger on the way he could handle the crowd—he just gets overlooked these days 'cause he's dead!"

"_Wrong._" Dean jabbed his finger at him over the roof of the car before gathering up the greasy sacks that held their lunch. Well—his and Leah's lunch, anyway. Sam's was in the smaller, considerably less-greasy one. Leah may have had her insane shape-shifter metabolism going for her, but there was no logical explanation for the way Dean managed to maintain his "girlish figure".

He was still ranting. "It's _because_ he's dead that he gets the attention he does—it's like, instant Hall of Fame. Holly, Hendrix, Joplin—it's all the same."

"What—are you saying Hendrix _wasn't_ great?"

"No! I'm just saying that you can't excuse Mercury being dead for not being called great. Face it—Zeppelin came first and is simply the better—_greater_ band. Anyway, Queen sold out and made all those pop, Michael Jacksony-sounding tunes—and _Highlander_." Dean's voice seemed to imply that there was no greater betrayal. "I'm not saying they didn't do some good stuff—but they're not even close to Zeppelin."

"That's not the point, Dean!" Sam hefted the cases of beer in his hands and lurched toward the door of their room. "She's not talking about their music—she's talking about the front man's persona and skill with the crowd."

"What—you call that porn 'stache of his a _skill_?" Dean demanded, incredulous. "He was all gimmicks and hand-waving! Plant just—just _exuded_ raw…"

He trailed off, and Sam raised his eyebrows at him as they stopped on the step. "Raw what, Dean?" he prompted.

Dean harrumphed and wouldn't look at him as he rummaged for the room key. "You know," he muttered.

"Ah—no, I don't, actually. Care to enlighten me?"

Dean gave him an impatient look. "_Sexuality_," he finally said, jamming the key in the lock. "Like he was really, _really_ into their music—like he _felt_ it."

A small bark of laughter escaped Sam. "Huh. So Leah was right, then. You do think Plant is just that sexy."

"Eat me," Dean said sourly, and pushed open the door.

The room was mostly as they left it, except that the all the empty beer bottles were gone—and it was empty.

Except…it wasn't. It took them only a split second to realize that the couch was…_moving_ slightly, and there were some very odd, muffled noises coming from behind the upholstered back—

And then Leah popped up into view. Her hair was sticking out at odd angles, her face was flushed…and her shirt was open. A distressingly-familiar blue tie was hanging loosely from her neck, dangling down over her chest between the cups of her bra, which were bright orange—best they could tell, anyway, from the glimpses of fabric visible between the groping fingers that covered them.

Sam blinked. Dean stared. Leah's face was red, and she tittered a little as she said, "Oh! Uh, hi, guys! We—ah—we were just—"

She didn't get to finish. One of the disembodied hands left off its fondling to seize the swinging tie; with one sharp jerk, Leah disappeared. She went with a yelp, followed by a helpless-sounding giggle, and then they heard nothing but the very loud, very wet, and very obvious sounds of some serious tonsil hockey.

"Ah—dude—_no_—" Sam squeezed his eyes shut and turned away. Dean appeared torn between incredulity and indignation—and his more than obvious desire to peek over the back of the couch to see what was going on over there.

There were some desperate whispers that were thankfully too muffled to hear, and a few more of those so un-Leah-like giggles, before she came into view again, trying to get up. Trying, in that it clearly was a struggle; there were so many grabbing hands trying to drag her back to the couch that she might have well been fighting with an octopus.

"Jeez—slow _down_, you animal!" she hissed as she finally grappled her way free. "Lunch is here, and I'm hungry." Her face was still red, and went redder when she caught their eyes, but she continued to play it cool, just casually buttoning and zipping up the open fly of her jeans and then lifting the tie over her head and balling it up to toss it down out of sight behind the couch. "Just—just hold that thought, and we'll finish this conversation later."

She tried to button her shirt, but was thwarted by the fact that there were apparently no buttons left. Her mouth twisted a little, but then she just shrugged and gave it up when she looked up and caught the appalled looks from the brothers. Raking her hands through her wild hair, Leah came around the back of the couch to relieve Dean of his burden. "Come on, guys—I'm starving," she said brightly, heading quickly to the table, her shirt fluttering around her waist.

Sam and Dean watched her go, exchanged disbelieving looks, and turned back to the couch just in time to see Cas's tuft of brown hair, looking more frazzled than usual, appear over the back of the couch. He sat still for a moment, and then lifted his head and looked around as though disoriented, before standing unsteadily. When he turned around, they could see that his shirt was open too, although he appeared to still have his buttons—and _his_ pants were still firmly closed, thank God. He was twisting his tie in his hands and looked somewhat dazed, his blank stare failing to register the room's new occupants.

It wasn't until Dean made a quick, expectant gesture with his hands, as if to say, "_Well?_" that his gazed sharpened and focused on them. And then his eyes went wide, and Sam and Dean swore he actually _blushed_. He opened his mouth, closed it again, looked at Leah, then away quickly, met Sam and Dean's eyes again for a second before cutting them away once more—and then he was gone.

There were no words; all they could do was look at each other. Sam struggled for a moment but then gave up. Dean had a few false starts, pointing to the couch, then to the table where Leah was rummaging (noisily) through the bags for their lunch, and then back to the couch, before he finally just threw up his hands and said nothing.

Leah was studiously not looking at them as they approached the table, where she was setting out her vast quantities of food with painstaking care. She didn't look up until Sam very heavily plonked the beer down on the table next to her. He raised his eyebrows at her neutral expression. "So?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Her chin jutted out as she defiantly played dumb. "So, _what_?" she answered, meticulously unwrapping a burger.

"Seriously?" Dean asked from the chair next to her. "_That_—" He gestured wordlessly to her open shirt, her bra on display, and the array of strawberry-colored marks that, while already fading, were still clearly visible, decorating her chest from her neck all the way down to the tops of her tits. "That is what you two do when we're gone?"

Leah, despite her ruddy cheeks, paused, her burger raised halfway to her mouth, and appeared to consider the question. Then, her determinedly serious expression cracked as one corner of her mouth lifted into a smirk, and she said, "We do now."


End file.
